If you don't value the precious seconds of your life, I've got a strong suggestion for you. Instead of building a lasting memory with something or someone meaningful, you could pay 12.00 to see one of the most pretentious P.O.S. ever made: Ides of March.
This movie is the epitome of how out of touch and narcissistic Hollywood elitists are when they articulate their vision of things they have no idea about, namely political landscapes. You see, just because Clooney is a handsome famous actor, just because he's spent some time on Capitol Hill in front of Congress, and pretended to give a flip about Darfur, he can accurately depict our political landscape. Well, he can't. From the first ten miserable minutes of the movie, I was looking for a plot everywhere. I looked under my uncomfortable seats and in the popcorn, but the only way I could've enjoyed this horrific movie would have been with a gallon of whiskey or a Wellbutrin smoothie. Phillip Symour Hoffman, like always, was great, but even he drowned in a sea of emptiness and plot absence. I wanted desperately to walk out, but I actually sat through Wag the Dog, so this seemed easy by comparison. I honestly can't even articulate a coherent critique because I don't hate it enough. I can't muster commentary because it didn't provoke one emotion. On the contrary, pure and simple apathy. I know Hollywood will kiss his ass over this movie because that's how stupid they are, but the only thing he should win is a Razzie for Best Direction in an emotionless, plotless drama.
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